


Crobby Drabbles

by SaunterVaguely



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, Trans Crowley, Trans Male Character, in one chapter, stupid saps in love, transphobic slurs in one chapter, varies by chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:29:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaunterVaguely/pseuds/SaunterVaguely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various drabbles from prompts on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enamor Me

Prompt: Enamor Me: one character wooing another.

Crowley doesn’t even have to turn around to know who’s chosen to interrupt his evening with a summoning. The devil’s trap on the floor at his feet, along with the smell of old books and the kind of alcohol that’s just as likely to make you actually blind as it is to make you blind drunk, give it away. 

“Robert,” he snaps, dragging a hand down his face (it’s been a long day), “You’d better have a really,  _really_  good reason prepared for why I shouldn’t call in the hounds right now. I’m in no mood-“ 

He stops mid-turn, staring at the hunter that summoned him. The hunter that’s standing there looking, well, sheepish. Sheepish and almost-  _presentable_. His trucker hat is nowhere to be seen, his hair combed back and beard trimmed, and he’s wearing a shirt that  _isn’t plaid and full of holes_. It’s even tucked into his trousers. And he appears to be wearing-

“Are you-” The demon king sniffs, catching a spicy wisp of something under all the familiar smells of the old house. “Are you wearing cologne?”

Bobby actually blushes, and Crowley swears he doesn’t remember dropping acid so this must really be happening somehow. “I didn’t have your phone number,” the hunter mutters, shifting and looking at his feet. “And this was the best way I could think to get ahold of you, so, well-” He steps aside and Crowley can see past him into the dining room, the table set with mismatched but clean and well-kept plates and silverware, a box of wine (of course it would come in a box) and what looks like a surprisingly decent roast. There aren’t candles, thank god, because he’s pretty sure that would be the last straw as far as ability to comprehend this situation goes. 

Bobby bends and scrapes away the trap, then stands and offers a hand nervously. “Dinner?”

 

 


	2. Get Me

Prompt: Get Me: one character saving another.

“Balls.” Bobby hopefully pulls the trigger of his pistol a few more times, then throws it in frustration at the head of the nearest- whatever these things that have shown up in his yard are. There’s three of them, each about eight feet tall, hulking things that look like crosses between angler fish and gorillas. Ugly as sin and apparently impervious to salt and silver to boot.

The gun bounces off the creature’s snout uselessly, and it snarls, tenses, and leaps at him with mouth open. He has just enough time to hope that the boys do alright without him before-

-before a short, dark blur comes flying out of nowhere and knocks the creature sideways.

Crowley lands on his feet with surprising grace in front of the human, facing the three monsters. The leader, the one he tackled, heaves itself back upright and roars at him, jaws wide enough to engulf his head, multiple rows of jagged teeth dripping what looks like venom as a bellow that would make Lucifer himself wet his pants rends the air.   
Rather than turn tail and flee like a sane person, Crowley drops into a half-crouch, fists balled, and _roars right back at the thing._  It’s not as loud, of course, but it’s deep and rumbling and somehow equally if not more terrifying coming from him.   
The creatures blink, faltering and looking considerably less sure of themselves.

“Go on!” Crowley barks, clapping sharply. “Shoo!”

_Shoo_ , Bobby thinks faintly,  _Like they’re the neighbor’s dogs that’ve just dug up his heathers or something._  Then he realizes that’s probably what they are- dogs. Some new kind of hellhound maybe? Something that simply slipped Crowley’s leash and found their way to Bobby’s house, because that’s just his luck. Whatever they are, they appear suitably chastened, and they turn and disappear back to wherever they came from.  
“That was awfully heroic of me, hope no one saw that,” Crowley says over his shoulder as he brushes himself off. “It was heroic, wasn’t it? Go on, tell me it was heroic.”  
“Yeah, sure,” Bobby says, rolling his eyes and feeling much less shaky now that he knows they were just Crowley’s new pets. “So, for future reference, what works on those things? Iron, some kinda charm or chant? Or do you have some sorta special demon dog whistle?”  
“How should I know?” Crowley turns to blink at him. “I’ve no idea what they were.”

 

 


	3. Haunt Me/Mourn Me

Prompt: Haunt Me/Mourn Me: one character watching over another/one character mourning another.

He wasn’t a ghost. He’d figured that much out.  
Or if he was, he wasn’t any kind of ghost he’d ever encountered before; the kind that could apparently pass in and out of Hell without being seen by demons.  
It had happened sort of coincidentally; Bobby had been following the boys around because he had nothing better to do. Since the flask-burning hadn’t done the trick he’d more or less given up on trying to move on. He hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation- the Winchesters had been having a less-than-friendly chat with Crowley about some rogue crossroads demon when suddenly Bobby’s name had come up.  
“By the by, where’s dear old Robert got to?” The king of Hell had asked, hands in his pockets. “Haven’t heard much from him lately.”  
The boys had each shifted uncomfortably a few moments until Dean had blurted, in typical Dean fashion, “He’s dead.”  
The meeting had ended pretty quickly after that and Bobby, on a whim, had tried to follow Crowley rather than the boys. He hadn’t really expected it to work, but he’d seen a flicker of- something- in the demon’s eyes and he was curious more than anything. Suddenly he found himself in a large, luxurious office: mahogany furniture, thick plush carpet, old-fashioned lamps set at low light. Crowley took a seat at the alarmingly tidy desk, hands flat on the top of it, and was still and quiet for so long that Bobby began to wonder if the demon knew he was there after all, or if he’d vacated his meatsuit. He was just about to slip away and try exploring somewhere else when Crowley stood suddenly and, without any warning or change in expression, swept his hands across the desk, scattering the perfectly organised papers and sending a lamp crashing to the floor. Bobby jumped back despite himself, cursing in alarm as the demon continued, hurling the chair across the room to smash into what looked like an original Blake painting, actually turning over the desk in his sudden fury.  
As quickly as it had started, the shitstorm stopped, Crowley standing in the middle of his ruined office with his hands at his sides. Bobby, pressed invisibly against the far wall, lowered his own hands and took a step forward, bewildered. The demon took a deep breath and released it, then turned to the undisturbed bar in the corner of the room. He grabbed a heavy crystal glass, a bottle of some clear fluid and a bottle of scotch. He set them aside, then turned back to the bar and put his fist through it. He pulled his hand back, bloodied and full of glass shards, and brought it down again, and again and again until the bar, like everything else in the office, was smashed to bits, his hand shredded and looking like raw hamburger.  
The king of Hell took a few staggering steps back and slumped against the overturned desk, chest heaving as he fumbled one-handed with the glass and bottles. He filled it half with scotch, half with whatever that clear fluid was. Bobby approached silently, unnoticed of course, and stood in front of him, still having no idea what to do with the demon’s bizarre behavior. Crowley knocked back the mixed drink, screwed up his face and grunted. It wasn’t until he opened his mouth and breathed out smoke and flecks of blood that Bobby caught on- the clear liquid was holy water.  
“Jesus, what the hell are you doing, you dumb bastard?” He snapped loudly, forgetting for a moment that Crowley couldn’t hear him. The demon, of course, ignored his silent outburst, refilling the glass and downing another dose of the poisonous cocktail. Now there was smoke leaking from his eyes, and not the kind that signified possession. Crowley refilled the glass.  
“Stop, for fuck’s sake!” Bobby shouted again, swiping ineffectively at him. Now there was blood dripping from the corner of Crowley’s mouth, his eyes. He refilled the glass.  
“God _dammit_ , Crowley!” The hunter reached out, furious, and slapped the glass away, sending it rolling across the floor.  
They both blinked down at it in shock, then slowly turned and met each other’s eyes.


	4. Amuse Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amuse me- one character trying to cheer another up.

"Is this amusing to you?" Crowley asks, arms crossed huffily over his chest. "I hope it is; I hope one of us is getting some amusement from this situation at least."  
"It's pretty funny, yeah," Bobby says, not even bothering to hide his grin as he looks over the demon on his sofa. Or, well, he's not sure if Crowley can really be classified as a demon- not anymore. Yesterday on a hunt, Bobby had been backed into a corner by a particularly disgruntled witch with a penchant for nasty spells. She'd hurled an extra-deadly one at him, only to have it blocked by the sudden appearance of the king of Hell himself. Crowley had absorbed the spell instead of Bobby, leaving him alive but, well,  _human_. And Bobby, being a decent guy and feeling pretty grateful over the life-saving thing, packed the ex-demon into his truck and took him home to recuperate.   
Crowley rolls his eyes at the hunter's remark, feet propped up on an armrest. "Yes, by all means, laugh it up. I've only lost everything I've ever worked for and been reduced to a pathetic mortal all in one day. Hilarious." His voice is dry and snarky as always but his eyes (they're sort of greenish, which is surprising because Bobby remembers them always being dark, dark brown, almost black before today) give away a hint of worry, fear that his words are true.  
"Hey, come on now," Bobby says in a gentler tone, reaching down to give the dark-haired man a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "It's just a curse; between the two of us we'll figure out a way to break it and you'll be back to swanning around like the candy-ass king of Hell you are."  
"You are the soul of comfort, Robert," Crowley says wearily, still not meeting the hunter's gaze.  
Bobby sighs, watching the possibly-no-longer-a-demon seem to shrink in on himself, and makes a decision. He bends down and kisses Crowley firmly on the mouth, muffling the startled noise the smaller man makes, then straightens and holds out a hand. "C'mon then, if you're human you might as well do a few human things." (He resists the urge to say 'like me, for instance' because that would be too cheesy and also something Dean would say.) "Bed's more comfortable than the couch anyway."  
Crowley gapes up at him a few beats before scrambling up and taking his hand, letting himself be led toward the bedroom. "If I'd known this was what it took to get into your pants, I'd have got myself cursed ages ago."  
"Shut up and get naked before I stop feelin' bad for you." 


	5. Chapter 5

Enamor me- one character trying to woo another

~

 

"This is a bad idea," the hellhound puppy says, eyeing the large blue ribbon around its neck disdainfully.

"Yes, exactly!" Crowley tucks the creature under his arm and picks up a bottle of fine sherry from his desk with the other. "It’s a very wickedly brilliant idea for the greater good of evil."

"No, I mean-" the puppy growls and rolls its eyes, frustrated at being ignored. "Okay, so from your ‘bad’ perspective it’s a ‘good’ idea, but from a logical standpoint… it’s just bad."

"Oh, you don’t know what’s good for bad," Crowley scolds, snapping his fingers. They disappear from the king of hell’s office and reappear inside the darkened living room of a particularly grouchy hunter. "Seducing Singer will give me the perfect advantage."

"But you’re not even _seducing_ him,” the puppy protests. “This is flat-out _wooing_!”

"Keep your voice down!" The demon hisses, carefully placing the bottle atop a small table. "I’m not in the mood to be shot with rock salt again."

"Then why are you doing this?" The diminutive monster gestures around the room with its nose, pointing out the unlit but extremely festive and tasteful Christmas decorations all over the walls, floor and ceiling. "This doesn’t even make sense!"

"It’ll lull him into a false sense of security!"

"There are much, much easier ways to do that! And he’s not gonna be able to understand what I say and I’ll have to spend my life barking and guarding cars and probably not even killing stuff and- what’s that?" The puppy glares suspiciously at the sprig of some sort of plant that its master is now securing above the nearest doorway.

"What, this?" Crowley’s eyes widen innocently. "Uh, poison."

"Is that _mistletoe_? Oh, god, are you gonna kiss him again? You are, aren’t you! That’s your whole plan, isn’t it?”

"Shush!" Crowley places the puppy firmly but gently under the tree, straightening the bow and stepping back to admire the heap of gifts critically. "That’s none of your business."

"You just wanted to spend Christmas with him, didn’t you? You’re probably not even gonna try to murder him!" The accusative tone in the puppy’s voice gets a wince from the demon.

"I- might! If the mood takes me!" He snaps a few more ornaments onto the tree and crosses his arms defensively.

"Who the hell’s down there?" A cranky voice demands, and both hellish creatures freeze in panic. The stairs creak and the lights flick on, filling the room with a cheery atmosphere and making the decorations gleam. Bobby appears on the landing, gun in hand and a perplexed expression on his face. "What-"

"Er," Crowley says, completely forgetting whatever he had planned to say. "Hullo."

"Crowley?" The hunter squints around the room, taking in the overwhelming holiday-ness. "Did- did you sneak into my house and unload a bunch of Christmas shit?"

"Possibly."

"What in the hell for?"

"Uh." The demon scuffs one shoe against the floor, eyes downcast.

Finally, from under the tree, the puppy whispers, “Boss, take two steps forward!”

"Hm?" Crowley glances up and blinks. "Oh, right." He shuffles forward, and Bobby raises an eyebrow, gun still in hand but not cocked. "Robert, if you’d direct your attention upward…"

The human does so, and he can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes him when he sees the sprig of green. “You smooth bastard.”

Taking that as a go-ahead, Crowley leans up and presses his lips against the hunter’s, feeling the hand that’s not holding a gun come up to curve around the back of his neck. They part, grinning at each other, and Bobby catches Crowley’s tie and tugs him up the stairs.

The puppy rolls its eyes and curls up to take a nap, and is left undisturbed for a solid two hours (aside from the rhythmic thudding from upstairs, which it willfully ignores) until the Winchesters arrive for a visit and are both secretly thrilled at the holiday setup and openly appalled when they find out who was responsible for it.


	6. Chapter 6

This one's not really from a prompt; I've just been having a lot of trans!Crowley thoughts and ended up scribbling one out in drabble form.

~

 

 

"So," Crowley says, eyes very deliberately focused on the glass of scotch in his hand. "You know. About me."

Bobby glances at him, raising a brow. He’s warm and comfortable, nestled into the deep cushions of the sofa with an arm around the demon’s shoulders, a fire crackling away in the fireplace before them. He makes a contemplative sound. “I know a few things about you. Care to be a little more specific?”

Crowley turns to look at him, eyes narrowed in cat-like annoyance. “Don’t make me say it.”

The hunter sighs and sets aside his own glass. “Alright, sure, I know. So what?”

"How long’ve you known?"

"A while."

"And how’d you find out?"

"Talked to a former colleague of yours." In actual fact, another demon had thought it would be a great idea to tell Bobby that the former king of hell "wasn’t as much of a man as he’d like to think", even going so far as to tell the hunter Crowley’s "real" name- Fionna MacLeod- and to ask whether Crowley "still liked getting fucked like a bitch". 

Crowley’s eyes are sharp and dangerous when he asks, “A colleague? Which one?”

Bobby shrugs. “No one you need to be worried about.” That asshole died painfully and thoroughly, stuck through with a borrowed angel blade.

"And you have nothing to say about it?"

"Well," Bobby pauses, thinks. "I do feel like kind of a shit for that ‘few extra inches below the belt’ comment that one time. I kinda got the wrong information in that case."

"I was rather glad, at the time," Crowley says, haltingly, "That you had. I- I didn’t want anyone knowing."

"Can’t say I blame you for that, bein’ in your position." Bobby nods. "I’m sure there’s those out there that’d use it against you somehow."

"At that point I was worried _you’d_ use it against me.” Crowley forces a little laugh with the words, but it’s shaky at best. 

Bobby shakes his head slowly. ”Look, I’d say your past ain’t any of my business, but that doesn’t feel right. Honestly, _you’re_ my business, and maybe that includes some of your messy past. But if you think I’m the type to judge a fella for tryin’ to feel like he belongs in his own skin, you don’t know me half as well as I’d thought.”

He looks up to see Crowley blinking wide, shining eyes at him, and he leans in to kiss the demon’s cheek, feeling the rough grain of stubble and the quick huff of Crowley’s breath. When he pulls back, Crowley follows him for another kiss before settling into his embrace once more, nodding decisively. 

"Good, then. That’s good to know."


End file.
